


From the Ashes

by Aaskada



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom, Naruto
Genre: Ancient Egyptian culture, But magic by people who know what they're doing is actually kinda boring, Cosmology, Immolation, Krakatoa is like a fairy ring, Magic finally gets done, Mentions of killing and maiming, Minor Character Death, Multiverse Theory, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Prostitution, Reincarnation, Religion, Senjutsu!Madara, Summoning contracts, Treason, but not by a main character, inaccurate history, kind of, or explicit, usually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2017-11-03
Packaged: 2018-08-10 16:48:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7853173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aaskada/pseuds/Aaskada
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sharingan is capable of incredible space-time ninjutsu and even more incredible accidents.</p><p>As he is killed at the Naka River, in the place that will come to be known as the Valley of the End, he is cast out of the world he knows and reborn in a place called Khmet. Khmet is harsh sun and wind and the city of Annu is subject to the whims of the river on the banks of which it is built. That would have been the end of things, but Uchiha Madara has never been one for the ordinary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Valley of the Shadow of Death

After clashing and fighting for nearly a full day Madara knew the battle was finally ending, and not in his favor. Hashirama was tired, too, but the other man's training in senjutsu and Mito's interference had given him the edge he needed to win—again, Hashirama would win as infuriatingly always. He had long since lost control over Kurama—now being sealed into the Uzumaki princess—and now was only fighting to do as much damage in his last moments as he could manage. Even that would not be as much as he wanted, but he was used to not getting what he wanted. ( _Why Izuna?_ his mind wailed, but that was weakness and he couldn't afford to let anyone see him weak.) He gritted his teeth and lunged forward again.

Trees grew around him. They came at him from every angle almost faster than his exhausted and injured reflexes could react. It was only kamui that kept him from being trapped, but as he threw himself desperately away without a specific destination in mind Mito was in the final stages of sealing Kurama into herself. The demonic chakra resonated strangely with the undirected jutsu and he barely had enough time to realize something was wrong before he was dragged painfully into the dark.

The shadows ripped at him, beyond his ability to endure. An indeterminate and seemingly infinite time later, when he's begun to despair that it will never end—his punishment for failing everyone ( _Izuna_ )—an abrupt resurgence of feeling hits him like a bijūdama. The last thing Uchiha Madara experienced was a howling cold.

In his last moments he considered his death less painful than trying to live in Konohagakure.

The world Madara dies in is the dominion of no one god or pantheon, but that of the primal powers of creation. As Death cradles his soul, already so powerful, Fate and Destiny trace out possible paths before him. He will someday return to whence he came, but until then he is _theirs_ and interesting. Life ties the inheritance from Indra to his soul and drops him into the world.

The aftermath was far messier for Konoha. The defection of the head of a powerful clan, even an unstable one with little political influence, was seen as weakness to the other hidden villages forming. The loss of Madara's strength would also cause problems. Not to mention he'd been in charge of the treasury, though closely watched, and the matter of who would be leading the Uchiha. Madara had no children and no one would have trusted a child of his anyway.

In the wake of the Valley of the End, Senju Hashirama's last act before he steps down as Hokage in favor of his brother is to capture the bijū and divide them between the hidden villages of the five great nations in hopes of maintaining peace. The Uchiha are discontented that leadership of the village is already being tied to the Senju line of inheritance, but they can't afford to complain.

The reign of the Nidaime begins with obvious differences: where Hashirama's idealism brought clans to the village, it is Tobirama's near-ruthless practicality that will keep it running. The administrative center is completed, the academy and hospital established, and the Uchiha are organized into the military police and relocated to their new headquarters. They are given practical reasons for this, but the Uchiha know they are not trusted. Positions and missions that the other clans take for granted will be closed to all but a selected few "good" Uchiha. Madara's madness is not theirs, but any sort of objection to their new circumstances would be seen through the assumption that it is.

But not even the Nidaime's strength can undo what others see as the Shodai's weakness. The first war begins as soon as the first generation of jinchūriki learn to use their new power.

Not even the most accomplished healers can discern whether it is poison or a wasting sickness that afflicts Hashirama at the end of the war, but it kills him so fast they have no chance to stop it. Both the second God of Shinobi and the Monster of the Flame are gone. Konohagakure is stronger than the other villages still, but only because the size of Fire Country meant there were many clans who joined them and the alliance between the Uzumaki and Senju that has extended to their villages.

Izuna's son has four children, but none of them are as strong as their grandfather or his brother. The villagers are unsure if they are relieved, but the clan is not. They accepted peace because refusing it was no longer an option, but they remember that this village exists to confine them because they were weaker than the Senju, because Madara was weaker than Hashirama. They will not be weak again.


	2. The City of the Sun

Khmet is not kind to orphans.

This child with no name was born in a brothel to a mother who doesn't bother to give him one, if he lives long enough he will get one when he is old enough to be asked for. She is beautiful and kinder than others might have been, but still this child is unwanted. She lives only long enough that he can survive without her before she dies of an infection common to whores. He is lucky.

Working in a brothel is easy for him only because he is so young, were he old enough anyone interested might pay for an hour or a night with him as with anyone else of age who works there. As it is, he carries linens to and from rooms and explores nearby. This brothel is scandalously close to the temple and he sees the priests sometimes in town. The priests are shining and proud figures amongst the people. He admires them, everyone does, and listens when other brothel workers talk about Heka and whisper that those with power and talent have a chance to join their numbers. Those with either are rare.

Power burns through his blood, though he doesn't yet know it. Controlling fire comes naturally to him, though he knows better than to do it in the brothel. He uses it to light his way in the streets and keep away thieves and murderers. He runs hot and it keeps him from feeling like freezing in the desert at night. The few other children curl up next to him in their shared room to keep warm when they have time to sleep at night, but mostly they sleep during the day and prefer to keep cool.

On the outskirts of Annu it is dangerous to walk alone, or in any group smaller than five. So he hears at least: being so close to the temple there are guards around at all hours and he never strays far. He can't, being so young and not knowing the city well enough. There's a good chance that when he's older he'll be sent to the river with the group that washes the linens every morning, but that's a possibility nearly a decade away. In the meantime he is safe enough only a few minutes walk from the temple behind the perfumed curtains.

Public executions and other punishments happen during the day, so he doesn't ever have opportunity to see one. They are usually violent, bloody affairs; he hears about them from visitors and workers alike who don't notice his presence. Thieves get their hands cut off. That means death, when they can't even eat _fish_. By the way people talk he knows the brothel is not a good place to live, but he's never known anything different and isn't sure why. Even those people say better a whore than a thief. It seems wrong to punish people for trying to survive, but so is taking what isn't yours. Unfortunately no one can just ask for what they need. Khmet is not kind to beggars either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one just really didn't want to be any longer than this.... The next chapters should be getting longer.


	3. The House of Ra

His mother has been dead for three seasons when Hama sends him to the market with the women going to buy perfume. He was born in summer and now it is spring; soon he'll be five years old, he's old enough that it's time he starts learning the city and how to barter. The market is closer to the temple, spilling into the courtyard at its steps, but around the other corner on the east side. The brothel is at its south. It's only ten minutes to the edge of the market, another ten to wind through the crowd to the stall deeper in where they go for incense and perfume. It is noisy and aromatic even as the sun is rising, but the stall has heavy curtains that block out sound and keep in the air heavy with spice. It is smokey from the lit censers and luckily the others already know what they are there for.

Always do what you can to have enough money to pay what a merchant will try to demand. You will barter the price lower, but you must be able to pay if you can't. Merchants have a way of knowing when someone is trying to buy their wares without the means from years of long practice.

The negotiations go well, they will be returning with nearly half the gold they had to start with. When this happens each member of the group is allowed a single coin that they can take and either save or use to buy a treat. Even he gets one. Mara will wait for him by the temple steps to take him back to the brothel. She tells him not to take too long and that she has something to buy herself before vanishing into the crowd.

A gold coin is a lot of money, especially for someone who has never had any, but after watching the negotiations it doesn't seem like much at all. He looks toward the temple and sets off through the crowd with his coin clenched tight in his hand. It feels odd to him, like a buzzing hum to some sense he can't describe.

He is close enough to the temple that it towers over him, but far enough that the crowds still block the courtyard from sight when he is accosted by a strange man. He doesn't know what the man wants from him, but he seems _dangerous_. He twists away somehow and uses his small size to escape into the crowd, but there's shouting behind him as the man shoves shoppers out of his way. The temple is close, _just a little bit further_. He runs and doesn't stop until he's halfway up the stairs, pressed against a painted pedestal topped with a bronze bowl that he can feel the fire inside.

By the time his pursuer escapes the crowd the man's been noticed by the guards, who are watching him with narrowed eyes and their spears shifted toward him. They descend the stairs as their target ascends them, but the man doesn't pay them any mind. With his back against the marble behind him he reaches up with his will and commands the fire to defend him.

Out of the brazier a lion leaps onto the man. Its fiery body flickers at the edges as the flames dance and its prey screams.

He has never seen a lion before, or even heard them properly described, but the creature before him could be nothing else. Enraptured as he is, he doesn't notice the guards or the priests approaching him. Even the smell of burning hair and flesh as the man is consumed screaming barely register. When the man is nothing but a charred lump the lion swishes its tail and turns to face him. He doesn't notice the onlookers panicking as he reaches out to touch it. Its warm face passes right through his hand and then it vanishes, leaving only heat in its wake. Then he gets swarmed.

A priest seizes his arm and carefully inspects his hand. "You are lucky not to be burned, child."

"It wouldn't have burned me," he says with the kind of conviction only a child could muster.

"Fire burns everyone."

"It was _my_ fire."

"Such powerful belief is rare in one so young," says another priest, newly arrived. This one is an older man dressed in colorfully dyed linen with jewelry made of gold and precious stones. _The fancier they're dressed, the more important they are_ ; he'd heard Hama say that once. "Will you come inside?"

"In the temple? Only priests go in the temple." He looks down the stairs toward the market. "Mara told me to meet her at the steps."

"That's fine, we can wait for her here." The man dismisses the gathered crowd with a wave of his hand and actually sits on the steps next to him. "My name is Heba. What is yours?"

"Don't have one," he mumbles, curling into a ball with the marble at his back. "Hama says I'm not old enough."

He isn't watching the priest and so misses the moment of understanding.

"Well, Bennu can give you a name. He likes giving people names."

'Bennu' is vaguely familiar; he is fairly certain he has heard a Bennu-bird being spoken about, but he can't remember anything more specific. Just to be sure he asks, "Bennu-bird?"

Heba smiles. "Yes, child, Bennu-bird."

Mara stops dead at the foot of the stairs when she arrives and barely manages the proper reverence in her shock. The body has been removed, but the ash and lingering smell have not; she hardly believes the priest who explains what happened. Even then, it is not until she is leaving without him that he realizes the consequence: he is now a ward of Ra and a student of the temple. He will not be returning with her. There is nothing he needs to retrieve from the brothel; he has nothing but his clothes and those will be replaced by something more suitable for an acolyte. It is when he first steps foot in the temple that he truly understands that he has been given what many hope for. From this point his future will be one of comparative ease and luxury; the challenges he faces will be only those he chooses for himself.

It is to a tiled courtyard toward the middle of the temple that he is taken. Other priests and acolytes watch him curiously as he is escorted past, already gossip has made its way through their ranks and they are wondering how much is true. In the courtyard Heba brings out a papyrus scroll tied with twine and shows it to him.

"This is the summoning contract for the phoenix clan," he says. "Bennu is their master and decides who may sign the contract. I will call him and he will name you."

Having a name is still a nebulous concept to him, but he has always anticipated the day he would have one (somewhat in ignorance of what else he would then be old enough for). To have one now, given to him by _Bennu-bird_ , is an attractive thought; though he is unsure how a bird will name him. He watches as Heba cuts his thumb with a small, iron knife and presses it to the tiles. In the open space beside them there is a sudden wreath of fire, unlike the lion that he summoned in that it had no source he could see. A moment later it settles and there is a large—easily taller than he is—red and gold bird standing beside them.

"Little Indra," Bennu-bird addresses him solemnly, "we have Seen you. Will you let me Know you?"

He isn't sure what that means, but he says yes anyway. Whatever he does, it leaves him feeling more aware of himself than he has every been. Bennu-bird nods his head, feathered crest bobbing with the movement; he is waiting for some verdict, but he isn't sure on what.

"Little Indra, you are Akhenra. You may sign our contract, summoner."

Heba unties the twine.


	4. The Sage of the Endless Cycle

The primary challenge at the beginning of his life in Pr-Amon was adjusting to sleeping primarily at night instead of in the day. This involved him being kept awake by anyone who happened to be nearby until such a time as he could keep awake by himself. Even then, a season passed before he stopped feeling more awake when Ra's chariot passed into the underworld regardless of how exhausted he had been only an hour before.

The second was getting used to having a name. Having gone his entire life without one until this point, he often forgot that when someone spoke to _Akhenra_ they were speaking to him. Up through his first year at the temple he was liable to forget his new name periodically and only respond to 'boy' or a hand on his head or shoulder.

Life is more formal, from speech, to dress, to schedule. Everyone woke at first light when they ate a light breakfast and bathed before each attended to their personal duties. Acolytes have their lessons at certain times of day and chores beside. All meals are served communally and everyone is expected to be present; fortunately, despite the mind-boggling size of Pr-Amon, there are relatively few people actually living there. Akhenra is too small to do most chores, being younger than was usually accepted into the temple. Instead he has lessons all day in literacy, tradition, and magic. Most of these lessons are taught by Heba, but he has other duties as well and so some are passed to other priests.

Ankhamen is his most common minder and teacher when Heba is busy. He is the second son of the Pharaoh's fourth wife and some twenty-six years old at the time of Akhenra's induction. Two of his sisters are priestesses, but one is in service to Osiris and one to Isis and both at least a decade older than he. Nobles and royalty often send children into the priesthood. In contrast to the common people this means that they need not be nearly as powerful or skilled to secure their place; Ankhamen is above average for the clergy, but he has admitted quietly that he cannot and will not ever be able to match Akhenra's potential. Such things are never said without a stern warning against arrogance. The gods are rarely forgiving of hubris; almost never, in fact, if those who challenge them do not win. Stories of this sort are almost exclusively tales of moralistic caution and those of success are always shrouded in rumor and uncertainty. Even those who win tend to wish they hadn't.

Magic, Akhenra learns quickly. The first lesson Heba imparts to him is that, while a lack of power can be worked around, magic fundamentally requires faith and intent. If he is going to achieve anything he must know what he wants and believe he can do it. He is also cautioned against using magic for dark purposes: while achievable, magicks that are solely harmful or intended to circumvent the power of the gods almost always comes with dangerous costs. The priests of Horus have a practice of placing their souls in phylacteries to achieve a kind of immortality, but they are ever careful to split off a single aspect while causing minimal damage to all five; even then the consequences are unimaginably dangerous. To separate any aspect but Sheut was taboo. Power requires caution and humility for the gods will put transgressors in their place, this generally being between Ammit's jaws. That is the most important lesson he will learn.

With his many lessons and, eventually, chores; Akhenra's time within the temple halls is busy and ordered. It changes in the fall of his tenth year.

Inevitably, the time comes to earn his right to Bennu's contract officially. Ordinarily one would be thrice his age and have spent at least half that time at the temple before Bennu would make any sort of judgement about whether they would be allowed to so much as touch the contract, but with the decision already made and him learning at an unprecedented rate it was decided that he would go to the homeland of the phoenixes at an unprecedented age where they would handle the rest of his education. Heba told him a week in advance that he would not be returning to Pr-Amon until they decided he was ready.

On the day he is to leave he went back to the room he shares with nine other acolytes to collect his belongings and then to the central courtyard where acolytes are sweeping and tending the gardens while priests do ritual prayers. Heba is waiting for him near the altar when he arrives. There are already daily offerings to Ra laid out, but he is taken aside and they both kneel on the ground.

"You know how a summoned being returns to their realm of their own power?"

"Yes, Heba."

"When they go they can take other people and objects with them. To get to the Great Volcano you will summon one of the phoenixes and they will take you with them."

Two years ago now he first summoned a phoenix by himself and now has two whom he considers friends and companions. It is they he will most commonly summon and rely on—they would be called 'personal summons' by some, though the term is inaccurate. For this he will undoubtedly be summoning one of them.

"Do you know who you will call?" Heba interrupts his thoughts.

"Chanah," Akhenra decides. "She will be the one."

"Very well. Call her now."

While gaining a contract and the approval of its master is not an easy process, an actual summoning is. As with any magic it requires faith, intent, and power; but also a sacrifice of some sort, usually symbolic and usually blood. A summon may demand other terms, but the phoenixes do not. He has his own little, iron knife now that he uses to prick his thumb and press to the tile beneath them. Chanah appears beside them as Bennu did half his life ago. She is smaller than Bennu, about two-thirds his height even if they share a deceptively slight build. She greets them cheerfully.

"Little Indra Akhenra, salutations, salutations! You are coming with us, yes?"

"Yes, please, Chanah."

"We leave him in your capable care and teachings," Heba said deferentially. (The thing about having been friends with Chanah and Kachel as such a young age is that he treats them less as the revered companions of Ra and Osiris and more as playmates. Bennu had always received an affectionate sort of reverence from him, but Ankhamen has despaired of his lack of respect and wondered at his continued survival.)

Chanah's talons click against the tiles as she hops over. She is half his height, too big for him to carry her or to perch on his shoulder, but she is strong enough to carry _him_. Still kneeling on the ground he grasps one of her long tail feathers. He has traveled this way before and it is uncomfortable, but he has never feared fire. This time they are going between worlds. It doesn't feel any different from traveling between two places in one world or realm; apparently places of overlap are like that, but traveling between realms or planes where they don't overlap is inadvisable. Akhenra isn't sure why one would go through the trouble when the overlapping places are _so much easier_. It doesn't seem worth it.

The Great Volcano towers over them in the distance when they arrive surrounded by fields of lava closer in and lush gardens and lakes further away. The volcano itself spits out fire and is crowned by a cloud of ash that looks like an electrical storm. In the trees around them and hopping along the ground there are more phoenixes going about their daily business who sing greetings to them.

"Welcome, welcome to Krakatoa!" Chanah trills. "This place physically overlaps with the Central Creation. Don't let go yet, Little Indra Akhenra, we have to take you to Bennu."

Bennu is waiting closer to the volcano with the phoenix elders who want to meet him. They would eventually, with him living here for an undetermined amount of time, but they want to meet him _now_. The phoenixes have thirteen elders who vary in size from one who is even shorter than Chanah to one three times bigger than he is; all of them take their turn hopping closer and inspecting him. It is the tallest who speaks, addressing him directly.

"You will learn to take in the power of creation," she says. "You must balance it with your own power; this is dangerous and difficult and once you have achieved this in stillness you must achieve it in motion. Only then can you be Sage. One who learns this as we teach it becomes Sage of the Endless Cycle, immortal like us who are reborn in full knowledge. Only then will you begin to learn the more complicated magic involved in elemental Sagery. Will you do this?"

"Yes, Elder."


	5. Treason in the Court

It takes two years to balance his soul with that of creation and another four before he can draw on the power around him with anything less than the most perfect stillness he can manage. He takes three more years to learn how to do this while it isn't his primary focus and only then do the elders declare that he has earned the title of Sage. They spend another year teaching him elementally-based Sage magic and after everything else it's so much easier. At least, fire is like breathing and lightning is close because he has affinities with both. Earth and water and wind...well, he will not be attempting any technique with any of those elements without supervision until he is told he can. Elder Achinoam told stories at great length about those who attempted to do some of the techniques he has learned for fire and lightning and scattered themselves across entire deserts. She knows many of those stories. He is certain she enjoyed telling them, too.

Other than magic there were lessons about tradition, history, and the various beings and their realms. The last had come up when he finally asks why the phoenixes call him Little Indra. How it was that death functioned differently dependent on which gods had dominion confused him—possibly he'd spend centuries or longer trying to understand that one—but that matters little to him due to his Sage abilities. His soul is removed from the dominion of the gods of Khmet. Whose dominion he was under, he is unclear on. As far he can tell everyone is always under the authority of the Powers, but they don't do much unless someone actively catches their attention and he isn't sure if there is _someone else_ as well. Especially since he is apparently connected to some kind of maybe-divinity. (He is making a list of questions he had that he never expects to get answers to so that he can compartmentalize them and ignore them without being bothered for the rest of eternity.)

When he'd left Pr-Amon he'd spent half his life there and now he is returning having spent half his life at Krakatoa. It seems as bit poetic, like the kind of thing the mystics and heretics on the streets might come up with. Not something he cared to be associated with.

The elders are waiting to see him off along with those he'd come to call friends. His years had been busy, so other than Chanah and Kachel there were only three others. He would be summoning himself back to Pr-Amon through some method the phoenixes had given up explaining the details of—it will work, he knows, but he doesn't understand how—and locate the nearest person he knows to sort out his return. Hopefully Heba or Ankhamen will be nearby.

"You have spent years among us, Little Indra, though your learning is not yet done and never will be," Bennu said. "For you we must return you or, if we don't, they will not recognize you on your return."

Omri, Meira, and Achan take that as their cue to all bounce up to him at once to say their farewells. Being birds they can't hug him very well, but they tried and also hummed the songs phoenixes sang for temporary goodbyes. When they were done Chanah and Kachel took their turn. That was over quickly, as they expected to see him sooner rather than later. The elders didn't say anything, but bobbed their heads at him—he wasn't sure if they picked that up from humans or the other way around. Then it was time to go.

The summoning works. As it turns out, Heba has kept something of his to be used as a beacon for this exact purpose—the technique now makes at least a marginal amount of sense to him—and so he doesn't have to go looking.

A decade has made Heba into a man nearly decrepit. It may be that time runs closely between this world and Krakatoa, but somehow it never occurred to Akhenra that everyone at the temple was aging just as he was. Those at the temple before him will still be older, but there is every chance that he is no longer the youngest despite that. And he will no longer be sharing a room with his fellow acolytes; instead he is no longer an acolyte and will be receiving one of the personal rooms generally reserved for the more senior priests. This is largely, Heba admits, because it is expected that he will return in later lives. However he wards his rooms now, it is recommended that he do so in such a way that in the future his ability to enter will suffice as incontrovertible proof of identity. He could always summon a phoenix, but that's easier when you have a knife on hand to draw blood and unknowns are not generally allowed in the temple—certainly not armed. His warding is entirely theory still, but theory is enough. Akhenra made a mental note to think more about that later.

"What are my new duties?"

"For today, arrange your new quarters and begin your warding," Heba said. "Tomorrow you join the rituals."

"I don't know how time passes in Krakatoa," he admitted. "How long has it been here?"

"Nine years and two seasons; the high priests will go with the Pharaoh to the river soon to prepare for the floods."

So time ran slightly faster in Krakatoa. Then he processed the last statement. He knows the flood rituals, even though he's never done them. It takes extraordinary circumstances for any but the Pharaoh and high priests to participate, and being invited to join the retinue was tantamount to being declared a high priest's successor. He is glad he'll have the rest of the day to adjust to the thought before it's time for the ritual. Heba levered himself out of his chair and gestured for Akhenra to walk ahead of him.

"I will show you to your room." Akhenra's new room is close by, not even a minute's walk, and Heba stopped outside the door. "It is your blood on the contract that you summoned yourself to." The scroll was held aloft. "Blood is used because it has the closest tie to magic and so it will always serve as a beacon to you." Then Heba leaves him there.

The room is luxurious: the bed is large enough that he could easily share it with two others, there is a lush garden on a balcony and potted plants on the window sills and ledges, an enormous bathing basin, a large desk, and shelving for scrolls and anything else he might see fit to store.

His belongings are stored in a pouch enchanted to hold anything he puts inside it, no matter how big or how much, so he sets the bag on the table and focuses on how to ward the room instead. The general wards over the whole area come first. A ward to keep out the uninvited, one to keep out any who means him harm. If he ties those to the power of creation and sets them to recognize his soul he can layer others on top of them without worrying about them turning against him. To anchor the wards in such a way would be most efficient with physical foci: thirteen around the outside and seven in other locations, all anchored to creation. But if there is a set of three as well it would be especially stable and not susceptible to break down or corruption.... He spun in a slow circle and looked around the room. He could carve three on each side of the space and put the thirteenth over the doorway where the wards would naturally be weakest. From there the seven could be taken to Krakatoa to be kept by the phoenixes and the _three_ —

If the three anchored to creation as a source of power with his soul as the focus point it would work out most of the problems, though he suspected no one would be able to get into his rooms unless he directly summoned them there. Perhaps not even then. He decides to summon Bennu to ask him his opinion before he creates the wards.

The next morning arrives too soon—with his focus on warding he forgot about the flood rituals at the river and is grateful that he will not be participating when he remembers.

* * *

 

Among the procession from the palace to the river there is only one other priest observing, a priestess of Bast twice his age. None of the priests look at him twice despite his age—they can feel his power and it speaks well enough for itself—but the soldiers.... Even without looking he knows their eyes are on him as much as the crowds around them.

At the river he stops well back with most of the retinue while the Pharaoh and high priests move closer to the waters. It is the high priest of Osiris who begins the proceedings.

Akhenra watches the ceremony closely. Each participant takes their turn invoking the god they represented, blessing the fields, and calling for visions and oracles. This is the kind of ritual that looks empty to outsiders: all the magic in the air can be passed off as imagination or trickery by one who can't feel it, the way light and sound warp in the middle of their circle. There is no screaming or shouting like poets on the street, or seizing and writhing under the force of divine power. This is a quiet ritual, though no less important for it. The people would expect grand things and that is why this one is not to be watched; true power is rarely so flashy.

It goes without problems and the outcome seems favorable from the feel of the magic and the reactions of the Pharaoh. Of course, it is not the ritual that goes wrong.

As the priests and Pharaoh approach the group there is a sound Akhenra can't quite describe, something that is both a deep drum and a crack and yet neither, that comes from everywhere and nowhere. It is barely enough time to realize something is happening before Akhenra manifests a wall of stone around them all—something he only manages because of the extensive training of his reflexes and reaction time he was put through. Something shatters against the wall and some of it splashes up over the edge of the wall as it rises around them. The unfortunate soldier it lands on is dead within a few seconds as he withers from the few, small drops.

Charging up over the wall is a reckless decision, but _he can handle it_. As long as he believes that it's true. Locating the only living person in the area outside their group requires more of his attention than he'd prefer in such a situation, but they are hiding on the other side of the river among the rushes. Akhenra twists space so that he is standing next to them and then a sharp hit has them unconscious. (It's the magic and not the blow that did it, but he can't yet do that without some sort of focus.)

The man on the ground is familiar: though Akhenra doesn't know who he is he can name at least two people he's related to. He looks like the Pharaoh, and so much like Ankhamen Akhenra might have confused the two if he couldn't feel magic.


	6. For What Glory Is It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, this took forever and I rewrote it like twenty times and then gave up for a while. But! I'm trying to pick it up again as my NaNoWriMo project.

Akhenra is not part of the investigation once he has been questioned. The attempted murder of the pharaoh and his elite guard is not the business of the priests past their presence at the time, but he does hear the rumors as they go around. Of the guard who died there is nothing left, his body whithered to dust. A statue is already being carved for his tomb. None of the potion could be collected, but where it hit the ground nothing survived. Being that he only hears news through rumor, he isn't entirely sure what is going on.

Instead he works with his fellow priests to replicate his teleportation trick. It was the same type of travel as summoning, but none of the other priests had experienced phoenix travel or being summoned. They could get themselves to anyplace within line of sight. They were also getting good at fixing the things they get wrong—reattaching fingers, putting robes back together, and regrowing their hair. If they actively remember not to leave anything behind they risk not making it to the right destination. As it is, their ability to fix their mistakes increases faster than their ability to avoid those mistakes.

Ankhamen joins them for a time and says nothing about his lookalike. No one else mentions it either.

As curious as Akhenra is, he knows the matter of the assassin is not his business, so he puts it out of his mind.

Three guards and an acolyte of Ra are killed in the market a fortnight later. It had been reasonably assumed that the pharaoh was the target of the attack by the river, but with this second attack that is no longer certain. It is obvious that no one knows the true target; there is confusion and worry in the temple and at least one person suggests that the attacks may not be connected at all. The same mysterious potion was used. More significantly, the acolyte in question had been the grandson of the previous pharaoh.

The next attack comes sooner—only a week later a lesser priest of Osiris is killed and no one denies that the priests seem to be the real targets. Despite that, the elite guard is still on high alert and the priests responsible for their own defense.

Another nine days later a priestess of Seth is killed despite casting a shield and a council is convened at Pr-Osiris. Heba takes Akhenra with him when he goes.

Akhenra may have been to Krakatoa, but other than the summoning he hasn't actually traveled further than the river. By camelback it is a week from Annu to Abydos. The trip is long and mostly tedious; he spends his time practicing small feats of elemental manipulation and looking around the cities and villages they pass through. The temple of Osiris is closer to the river than the temple of Ra, though still back from the floodplains.

They stay in the temple for two more days before everyone coming to the council arrives.

"How is it one shield worked and the other failed?!" the future high priest of Anubis exclaimed. "Has the potion been remade to go through them?"

They have been on the subject for several hours already—a midday meal was brought to them and remains most uneaten on the table—and no worthwhile progress has been made. Akhenra considers the question, asked several times in several ways, and finally something occurs to him.

"What kind of shield was it?"

Other than a few people at the other end of the table the arguing stops.

"Excuse me?" the high priestess of Bast asks, her look of bafflement making it clear she doesn't understand why he asked.

"I blocked the first attack with a physical shield of manipulated earth. Did the priestess use a physical shield or a magical one?"

There's a moment of dawning clarity.

"I believe it was magical," the high priest of Seth says quietly. "She was very talented with them."

"Then the potion attacks the magic somehow," Heba muses.

At that point half the table descends into chaos and, determining that nothing else will be achieved, Akhenra sits back from the table and considers the situation.

There are a few options for the potion: it might react to magic or consume magic and it may or may not have the same effect on non-living sources of magic. Learning anything any more would need some of the potion and time to experiment in order to know for certain and neither the first condition nor the second was available to them.

Finally the council broke up as the sun went down and the evening meal was brought to them. There would have to be another meeting the next day but in the meantime everyone retreats to their rooms for the night.

As they retreat they're fairly evenly split between those still panicking and those starting to plan. The high priest of Anubis and his successor are in the first category, he notices. He doesn't know much about the inner workings and teaching of the other temples, but he suspects Pr-Anubis probably doesn't teach much about physical manipulation with magic and they don't know if a conjuration will be good enough to stop this potion. They are very good at anchored spellwork, but that won't help in this case.

The next morning they gather again before sunrise to eat and begin discussion. At this point everyone is either calm or exhausted. The high priestess of Bast and her successor are talking quietly and the high priest of Anubis seems to be awake only because he can't sleep.

"Those who cannot manipulate the earth must learn," the high priestess of Bast says once everyone is at the table. "As far as we know it is the only way to protect ourselves, it must be done."

"Not all of us can teach these things," the high priest of Anubis says. He looks and sounds resigned.

"Your anchored spells could be used to give animation to statues, could it not?" says the priestess of Wadjet.

"If such a thing was to travel with any who left your temple it could block attacks for you," adds the high priest of Seth. "Give them shields and their charges would be safe from the potion."

"That—that we can do." His face goes from tired to considering as he begins to design the enchantments; he mutters quietly to himself about stones and spells. They leave him to it as they discuss what the other temples will do.

Pr-Amon will teach elemental manipulation—they have for some time—but with greater emphasis, in particular on earth. Pr-Anubis is the only temple that does not have the expertise to teach elemental manipulation and, with their plans being sorted out amongst themselves, the council is concluded.

Every member of the temple is assigned to practice their elemental manipulation—indirect manipulation for the most part, which requires power more than skill and thus could be learned quicker. Fire is the most common affinity at Pr-Amon, those with other talents tend to end up at other temples eventually, but that just means the acolytes are learning to hurl fireballs at incoming projectiles. According to an experiment it should be fairly easy to destroy a glass flask.

Progress comes swiftly for them: in the next six attacks there are only two fatalities. But it is inevitable that the attacks would eventually come to a head. With the failures, the attacks escalate and soon enough the market is attacked instead of the priests. There are sixteen deaths and the people are outraged, but the mastermind and his purpose are still unknown. There is an ongoing investigation into the potion, but without knowing any of the ingredients it is impossible to know where to look; at Pr-Amon there are three priests trying to calculate the recipe, but it seems likely that several ingredients must be entirely unknown to them as they cannot resolve their results into those familiar to Khmet and they aren't entirely sure how the potion works anyway.

Soon enough one of the temples is attacked. Pr-Anubis loses several guards, but the enchanted statues they've created stand strong against the potion.

It comes down to preparation in the end and, unfortunately, they weren't prepared enough.

The fall equinox rituals are accompanied by a festival in the capital and security has to both allow visitors and protect the festival-goers from attack. If they had some of Pr-Anubis' enchanted statues it would help, but they're going to have to make do with intention wards around the city. It's possible to make a temporary ward that will be more powerful than an anchored ward, but it will need a lot of power and can't last more than a week—after three days such a ward would get more difficult to keep from corrupting or collapsing. But they can't anchor a ward like that because they're notoriously inflexible; they can't afford to accidentally make Annu inaccessible.

That is why Akhenra is standing a league outside the city bleeding onto the ground.

Really, what makes a ward permanent or impermanent is the anchor. Blood makes for a powerful anchor, but alone and unadulterated a ward using only blood as an anchor can last thirteen days at most. Over such a large area, getting this ward to last even the seven days that guests will be in Annu will require enough power to make the equinox rituals difficult. They do have one bit of fortune: the priests of Osiris are helping them with the wards as well as the rituals. The outer wards were being put up by thirteen circles of thirteen with a circle of three as a focal point. The inner wards that would cover only the festival grounds would be the same, but the smaller area covered would mean that they would have extra power to do more than knock out anyone who tried to mess with them without risking collapse. Guards would have to patrol the outer wardline looking for people who'd run afoul of them. They would also have to set up a temporary prison outside the city.

He was awake the day of the festival, for all that he still felt exhausted. Of the three-hundred forty priests who'd raised the wards only six others were awake by midday. Being awake still leaves him exhausted and ravenous; when he dragged himself to the door a servant tried to send him back to bed with food and drink, but he was close enough to the main hall when the screaming started to hear it. And stubborn enough he wouldn't be deterred.

"Lord Akhenra—!" the acolyte objected.

If the man was willing to manhandle him it wouldn't have been hard to stop him; instead he stumbled to the stairs while a flock of acolytes fluttered around him.

Outside the courtyard was deserted and the market streets were emptying as well. The steps and courtyard were covered in ash with no sign of what had occurred. A familiar, thick liquid was splashed on the sides of the marble plinths and braziers.

"How?" he ground out. The power in the wards were more than enough to keep anyone with hostile intentions out—they had to be after how much power had gone into them. He stepped out of the shadow of the temple and a moment later heard the sound of breaking pottery. Up in the sky another hawk dropped the small vessel in its claws; it shattered on the ground next to him. In the bare second it took to realize he couldn't feel his leg it crumbled away almost up to his hip. "The birds!" he shouted at the horrified acolytes. "Tell Heba it's the birds!"

His body turned to dust so fast he didn't even feel it.


End file.
